


The Frail

by Pumpkinium



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Trauma, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pumpkinium/pseuds/Pumpkinium
Summary: [SHADOWBRINGERS PATCH 5.3 SPOILERS WITHIN.]The now retired Warrior of Light suffers from a cocktail of traumas and mental illness.
Relationships: Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 19





	The Frail

**Author's Note:**

> Kriiva is one of my WoLs and a shard of Azem entirely. Azem can shift through their shards' appearances and personalities at will, though some shards can take precedence more than others in certain situations, like a multiple system.
> 
> [Kriiva looks like this.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/282240993875460096/744652849245585428/unknown.png)

Though one would easily recognize the tall buildings and twisting spires of Amaurot, a discerning eye would note peculiar inconsistencies with this visage. Namely, public seating and other relevant flourishes now accommodate those of much smaller stature in comparison to the towering ancients that once were, utilizing changes in scale, or adding steps to provide for a wide range of body types. The flora was far more frequent and came in lovely variety, vegetation both familiar and unrecognized mingled to liven the landscape. Most publicly installed planter boxes had plaques with the names of those who submitted the combination of plants to be put there, and some of them were dedicated to certain people. A notable detail would be how some seem unhindered walking down the street without a mask or robe. Few were out at this time of night, but it was clear that the communal garb was not much of an obligation in this day and age, the ordinance having since been greatly laxed. Above all else, the great city was situated on an unassuming island off the coast of Vylbrand, though still comfortably large, this reconstruction of home was deemed Little Amaurot.

Within this recreation of home, Zenos strode out of an apartment building’s front door, wearing a plain grey-blue shirt, soft red pajama pants, and a pair of sandals. He skipped the few steps down to the sidewalk with a jump, curving around the railing in the process, and fast walking in a particular direction, his long hair hopping against his back with the wind of his motions. His signature blank expression left no window to his mind, just a man that seemed to have somewhere to be. The city fairly gleamed around him, the night sky speckled over the place in his dreams, yet no longer plagued by skyfire and death, only peace. 

However, no amount of peace can penetrate some of the deepest, most petrified roots.

The ex-prince glided a few blocks down the street, turning one corner and letting himself into a different set of apartments that were closer to the Capitol. He rode the elevator up a few floors, walked down the hall, and stopped before a door. He placed his hand on a flat crystal interface that responded to his touch with a soft glimmer, the sound of the door unlocking soon after. Pushing open the door revealed a dark apartment only lit by the faint glows of idle objects decorated with aether, and some night lights. Zenos was familiar enough with this place to traverse in the dark to the bedroom.

Within the bedroom was a man with short, white hair, bundled up tightly in blankets. A coat hanger stood in the corner of the room holding some white robes, and a red mask lay on the bedside table, it’s eyeholes curved in such a way to match a smiling face. This man slept so soundlessly that one would wonder if it was a fake-out. Zenos stood over the bed and gently placed his hand on the man’s blanketed shoulder, establishing who he was through aether, as little as he understood how to control his aether for such a formality. Then, he gave a soft nudge.

“Elidibus.”

The white haired man hummed, squeezing his eyes for a moment then opening them, pearlescent white irises measured who woke him, acknowledging him with both sight and aether. “Mmm… What brings you at such a late hour?”

“There is a… personal matter… that I am not equipped to handle at Azem’s apartment. I would ask yours and Emet-Selch’s assistance, if you would pry the old man out of sleep?”

“Azem…?” Elidibus repeated with a lilt of concern, sitting up and slowly rising out of bed.

“I am not privy to the finer points of care. The rate of decline is too severe for me this time.” Zenos admits, and through his admission he implies enough for Elidibus to understand.

“Ah…” He turned to grab his white robes off the rack and pulled it over himself, filling out the robe and leaving the hood down. He went around the bed to grab his mask and tucked it into an inner pocket. “Very well, I’ll see to getting Emet-Selch and I over there posthaste.” With that, the Emissary disappeared through a portal.

Zenos went through his own portal, placing himself back on the sidewalk outside Azem’s apartment complex and taking a seat on the step, waiting. About five minutes had passed until Elidibus materialized before Zenos with a groggy Emet-Selch in tow, hair mussed, snuggled into the warmth of his black robe, and otherwise looking sleep deprived, though it seems he’s held his tongue over it for the weight of the situation. Wordlessly they acknowledged each other, and Zenos stood up, the three making their way to Azem’s room on foot.

Outside the door, Zenos gently tapped on it and cleared his throat. “Kriivahiik, tis’ I. I’ve summoned Emet-Selch and Elidibus, we’re coming in.” The two convocation members shared a glance at the utterance of that name. Zenos opened the door and walked in with the two trailing behind, leading them into the bedroom and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, ushering them to enter the bathroom while he observes from a distance. The two in robes steeled themselves and filed into the bathroom, Emet-Selch in the fore. They see a large au’ra curled in on himself, trembling, shrinking himself as much as possible, in the bathtub, with his black communal robes hiding all save for his tail. Upon further investigation, some blood is leaking beneath the robe into the tub.

“Well _there’s_ my big boy.” Emet addressed the troubled au’ra with sleepy familiarity, the voice causing him to tense up. Emet put the toilet seat down so he could sit. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Emet was met with a shuddered breath, the sound of Kriiva’s stabilized breathing being broken by a whimper and a choke, his breathing facilities audibly clogged with snot and tears. No real words came to Kriiva, he labored now that his silent struggle was silent no longer, the beginnings of resurfacing panic flitting through his body, especially his tail, at his own disturbance.

“Fret not, dear, deep breaths. We can assess your needs one at a time.” Emet gave pause, allowing Kriiva a little more time to stabilize himself. “I’m of the mind that you have injuries, do I have your permission to look under your robes to treat them?” Emet’s tone was light and soft addressing the ex-knight.

Kriiva shuddered again, his tail slapping noisily on the tub floor, a movement he can scarcely control. With effort, he gave a stuttery nod.

“Alright.” Emet confirmed and he got up, putting his legs over the edge of the tub and then sitting on the side beside Kriiva. He cared not of the blood that got on his slippers and draping robes, it can be cleaned. “I’m going to lift your robes up to your shoulders and no further. I trust that your face is unharmed?”

Kriiva tensed up a lot, more anxious whaps of his tail. This was not an answer he knew, for he’d been practically frozen in fear and paralyzed in this position for a while. He’d been crying for so long and contorting his face that it definitely hurts, and he doesn’t remember anything right now, if he had slashed his own face or not. The prospect that he had to speak this answer made him scared, but the idea that his slow deliberation would be met with anger and impatience scared him more. The result of old habits from abusers long in the past. “Dunno.” He choked out, voice shaky and weak.

“No worries, we can check your face when you and I are ready for it.” He reassured. Leaning down, Emet began bunching up the robes and carefully lifting them, the sleeves were unoccupied, Kriiva had kept his arms tucked into himself underneath. The lifting turned more into peeling, the fabric sticking to some parts of the au’ra smeared with blood. Elidibus and Emet both observed the poor boy was covered in many scratches and gashes, ranging from mere cat scratches to deep cuts, the direction and location made it clear that these were self inflicted with claws. This wasn’t the first time, for beneath every cut, the dark skin beneath was host to a long history of scars, subterfuge betrayed by the natural lightened tone of old healed skin. Emet said nothing, though Elidibus was frowning at the sight. The former of the two rested the robes on Kriiva’s shoulders, who shivered from all the cold air touching him now. “Elidibus, could you run that towelette under some warm water and hand it to me?” Emet asked, pointing to a small hand towel by the sink. Elidibus did just so, squeezing out a little bit of excess water and handing it to Emet.

Carefully, he began patting the towel down over Kriiva’s left outer thigh and calf, cleaning his wounds. The warmth of the water soothed him, if only a smidgen. Once that part was clean, Emet channeled some healing magicks, though he was no expert in the field, he still knew more than enough in his age. Once he finished with that, he tried to motion for access for the inner leg, but the rended boy didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, budge. Emet made do with what exposed skin he could reach, but came to an impasse soon enough. Kriiva had a death grip on his own arms, digging his claws into them, puncturing the skin, as he kept them folded around his knees. Emet rubbed Kriiva’s back softly, “Do you want me to check your face for any scratches?”

Kriiva still trembled somewhat, like a baby deer learning to walk, but he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and nodded once more. Emet leaned over and gently touched his hand to Kriiva’s cheek and turned his head to face him, he gave a light smile and didn’t fixate on him for too long a moment, simply checking his cheeks for scratches, but finding naught but smooth skin wet with tears. “No scratches here.” He pulled his hand away, but for a moment Kriiva’s exhausted gaze lingered on Emet’s, and their eyes locked. The shortest moment spurring more tears to swell in the abused xaela’s eyes.

 _“I killed you.”_ Kriiva’s words ghosted through his lips, barely a whisper. Horrific realization painting his features, causing him to raise his hands and grip at his head, clawing at his scalp, like he’s trying to suppress the pounding headache he’s offending once more. “I killed you both.” His voice sounds higher pitched with his crying, with the cadence of a child. “I- _We_ watched- all three of you die! How could- H-how-” Crying and words grew into full blown hysteria again, claws scraping haphazardly at his horns, then gripping them, trying to put a lot of force into ripping them off. His cries a slurred cacophony of ‘why’s’ and utterances that they, he and the other shards of Azem now rejoined, don’t deserve to live.

“Kriivahiik, be that as it may, your soul still came back for us. Our mutual acts of violence were deserved to clear us of the stains in the fibers of our beings, thus we may pave a better future for all. Your sins driven by Hydaelyn are no different than ours of Zodiark. Our actions forward together speak for our true selves far more than those ordained by our past duties. We all carry that guilt, but we only allow ourselves to be the critic. I’d sooner wax poetic of being here now over lamenting the troubled path we took. Our respite is earned, both yours and ours.” Elidibus spoke up in an effort to ease Kriiva, “I pray logic may ease your addled mind over the thousand curses and uncertainties that come to plague you.”

Kriiva heeded his words and stopped trying to rip his horns off, shaking in place and fidgeting, trying to get something out. “I just-” He choked, his crying made it incredibly difficult to get words out, his throat involuntarily convulsing in a way that cut him off. “It hurts-” A deep gasp. “My heart-” He sunk along the side of the tub, smearing blood. “My heart- hurts- I-I can’t-” His crying was ceaseless, clutching to himself. The pain in his heart, his soul, pierced so very deep, to the very core. Everything felt like it was sinking, and fear flitted in the back of his mind that maybe he will die right now. If the pain will be too much to bear that the heart will simply cease beating. His belief that he’s undeserving of this life clashed with the fear of leaving those who care for him behind, to cause them deepest despair at his passing. Thinking about it only made him remain upset, starting to lose focus on those around them, if they’re saying something to him. He can’t tell anymore. His claws clung to his scalp, his palms pressed firmly against his forehead but also shrouding his eyes from the world and light around him, a habitual attempt at trying to simply stop his migraine by putting pressure on his skull. Everything was far, far too much.

The world around him continued to work. Emet-Selch asked Elidibus for help, and they both approached the bathtub, Emet stepping inside part way and leaning down. Together they picked up the large sub-dragon and carried him to bed. Elidibus got comfortable and sat against the backboard, letting Kriiva sit in his lap, as much as he dwarfs Elidibus in size. Emet-selch sat in front of him, while Zenos lounged on the other side of the bed, observing. If he is inexperienced, he would at least try to watch and learn. Emet used the towel to finish cleaning up Kriiva’s cuts, healing them afterwards and seeming to get all of them. With a snap, the towel, and all the blood stains collected between here and the bathroom, had vanished. 

With the snap did Kriiva’s thoughts finally silence.

The messy, sticky stings of each slice he’d gifted himself has since dulled to nearly nothing, mess no longer felt with each subtle draft. Fingers were in his hair, gentle fingers, combing through and leaving pleasant scratches on his scalp. The other two seemed to be having some light conversation, but he didn’t really pay attention to what they were saying. His body still trembled, wracked with all he was put through tonight, but he slowly pulled his hands away from his head and just looked at them. Crying ceased for only moments when he stilled, the tears waited under his eyelids, the fluid of their soul that leaks out things too unruly to keep inside. The muted conversation ceased, now what? This respite let his thoughts come in one at a time, quietly and slowly. He inhaled deeply and sighed, the tears threatening to spill once again, and all Kriiva could do was look up at the man before him. Hades, only a little tired, but expression kind all the same. Kindness reserved only for him, despite how limited his reservoir goes. Hades placed both of his hands on Kriiva’s, holding them with tender care.

Kriiva’s eyes water, and the tears fall once more, his quivering still going, and he shrinks just a little more than he already was. He is small, for so deep do his trauma’s roots scatter and grip that they’ve robbed him of all his life, save for when the roots reaches it’s ends, a piece of his core tucked away just out of reach. A piece of him, and yet also them combined, the fragments of the same soul, some pieces similar and different. The piece that remembers the serene innocence of life as a little child, happy and carefree, before all the world’s burdens trickle in, then drizzle, then flood until cracks form on the metaphorical dam and sunder it. Baring the heart, mind, and soul to the raw truths of the world. Yes, they may have finally earned their rest in this new little paradise, but Azem still grieves for their pieces like this. The sacrifices, burdens, abuse, hardships. It can come on _hard,_ like an echo of things one does not wish to relive. A waking nightmare far too vivid for anyone, too cruel. Yet they suffer from this curse in occasional bouts all the same.

Weakly, the large au’ra’s strength is that of the ghost of a child that presently haunts him, and he pulls Hades’ hands towards himself, guiding them around himself in a hug. Hades complied, scooting closer to hold the weeping brute. He gently rested his head on Kriiva’s shoulder and stroked his hand up and down his back reassuringly. Putting a little pressure into it, making it feel pleasant. Hades and Elidibus soothed the troubled boy like this for many minutes, but with infinite patience did their efforts bear fruit. His trembling ever so slowly lessened with the warmth of the two ancients he’s between, and his mind let itself finally wander to the comfort they were giving him. Love, unabidden. Elidibus’ fingers still going through his hair, and Hades’ soothing massages and scratching up and down his entire back. Kriiva’s nerves were finally allowed to settle, and his aching body permitted to stop being so stiff. Being frozen in the terror of his trauma for so long petrified his muscles and bones for a spell. Voice only a delicate murmur, Kriiva asked to use the bathroom finally. The two ex-ascians shuffled a little to allow Kriiva out of the bed, and he slowly slipped off, moving and stretching all of his limbs at once creating a cacophony of cracks. “Aaaah.” He growled out in satisfaction, then borrowed the bathroom for a few moments to clean himself up.

A flush of the toilet, the rush of the faucet, then he shambled back out, grabbing his communal robes by the back and pulling it off over his head, tossing it onto a chair and revealing that he was shirtless underneath, but wearing boxers. “Um, stay?” Kriiva sheepishly asked, to which he received some nods and hums. He smiled wearily, making his way back into bed. Hades snapped his fingers to replace his and Elidibus’ robes with their pajamas once more, a notion so familiar that Elidibus doesn’t flinch as he puffs up a pillow and gets comfortable. The dynamic between the 4 in this room has been established already, for a while. Many actions could be made wordlessly. The life was simply that full of trust and love, having grown over a few years, some routine, and some honesty. In the end, what they had was beautiful.

Kriiva sunk into bed, with Zenos and Elidibus by his sides, and Emet’s lanky self splayed rather carelessly between Elidibus and Kriiva, lingering mostly on top of Kriiva. The bed was more than big enough for this reason alone, Azem loved being shared, being loved by so many they love in return. Kriiva settles with this peace now, as tired and exhausted as he is from the night’s events. He remembers the world and the people who love him again. His mind slowly returning to ease for the time being… Til’ the next bout strikes him, anyway. Kriiva snuggles with everyone and drifts off to a quiet sleep...


End file.
